


Look Yellow

by AwkwardGhost_1782



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A fanfic? Sorry, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, I meant me rambling for 2k straight and then they kiss, M/M, No beta we die like archival assistants, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Warning: A bunch of random unnecessary capitalization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25235005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardGhost_1782/pseuds/AwkwardGhost_1782
Summary: When he thinks about Jon coming to rescue him in The Lonely his heart aches a good ache. He had been so numb, the fog bled into him and made him forget how to feel. He was all Alone, didn’t even have pain for company. And then there was Jon. Jon who talked to him, who Saw him, took him by the hand and led him away from the fog. Led him Home. But he also knew that Jon had given two ribs away and thrown himself into a coffin of choking misery for Daisy, who definitely wanted to kill him. He wasn’t necessarily special, Jon was simply Good. Yes, he was moody and quite rude at times and a bit of an asshole (definitely an asshole) but he was still good in all the ways that matter. In how he cares even though he refuses to show it, how he’d rather sacrifice himself any day than let any of his friends and some die.Martin is thankful that Jon came after him, but he’s not foolish enough to believe it means Anything.And yet. And yet.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 42
Kudos: 319
Collections: tma is an office comedy - tma fics (read)





	Look Yellow

Martin is not used to being around Jon.

It’s not a bad thing. Not at all. It’s just, after all these months (a year, some more) hiding away behind doors locked closed and biting his tongue to keep from answering to the muffled voices on the other side of the wall. It’s jarring. Well, not necessarily, but hard to get used to. He still jumps every time he hears Jon call his name from another room, not a trace of urgency in his voice. When they bump into each other in the hallway and eat breakfast together and go to sleep in the same bed. Martin feels like he’s living someone else’s life.

The safehouse has only one bed. Which is not unexpected, or at least it shouldn’t have been. It was awkward at first, they fumbled inside the strictly set boundaries inside their heads like they had forgotten how to sleep comfortably. Maybe they had. The first night neither of them slept, scared of what was lurking outside the windows and inside the walls and of each other and themselves. But they figured it out eventually, more or less. Martin sleeps on the right side, Jon on the left. Every night they go to sleep with some five inches of space between them and every morning Martin wakes up with Jon’s hand holding his. It’s not intentional, he knows it can’t be. The first time it happened Martin thought he was still asleep, dreaming away silly fantasies of an old love never returned. But his eyes were wide open and the early morning sun was spilling easily into the room and across Jon’s face, painting him soft. Jon’s features don’t relax while he sleeps, don’t make him look any younger, but there’s still something somewhat regal about him in the first hours of the day. Martin left the bed before Jon woke up. 

Once the paranoia seeps out and they allow themselves to breathe, Jon becomes different in the safehouse. He’s not any less himself, but this is a face of Jon’s unlike any Martin has seen before. He’s seen Stuck-Up Jon, Paranoid Jon and Scared Jon, Saving-The-Fucking-World Jon, Lets-Gouge-Our-Eyeballs-Out-And-Runaway-Together Jon. But never the Jon that curls up in the lumpy couch under two woolen blankets, frowning down at a shitty book, the Jon that tries to cook something nice and fails miserably, the Jon that tucks Martin’s overgrown curls behind his ear and mumbles how white doesn’t look bad at all on him. 

It’s things like That that make Martin lose his mind. All the- the _mixed signals._

When he thinks about Jon coming to rescue him in The Lonely his heart aches a good ache. He had been so _numb_ , the fog bled into him and made him forget how to feel. He was all Alone, didn’t even have pain for company. And then there was Jon. Jon who talked to him, who Saw him, took him by the hand and led him away from the fog. Led him Home. But he also knew that Jon had given two ribs away and thrown himself into a coffin of choking misery for Daisy, who definitely wanted to kill him. He wasn’t necessarily special, Jon was simply Good. Yes, he was moody and quite rude at times and a bit of an asshole (definitely an asshole) but he was still good in all the ways that matter. In how he cares even though he refuses to show it, how he’d rather sacrifice himself any day than let any of his friends and some die.

Martin is thankful that Jon came after him, but he’s not foolish enough to believe it means Anything.

And yet. _And yet._

It’s still hard not to get his hopes up at times. It’s hard when he wakes up to Jon trying (and failing) to cook him breakfast and gets sent right back to the bedroom so Jon can bring burnt toast to him in bed personally. When Jon doesn’t like poetry but will still read Martin’s poems (the ones not too embarrassing to share) with a fond smile and when he holds his hand at the village and steals his knitted sweaters. When Martin catches Jon Looking at him from the other side of the room and instead of Looking Away once caught, he smiles at Martin. 

Yesterday Martin was weeding out what he hopes to turn into a garden when Jon brought him a cup of tea. Martin thanked him, surprised. It’s always been the other way around as long as they’ve known each other. He sipped at the cup and nearly choked. It was made exactly how Martin likes it. He can’t tell if Jon Knew or, well, just knew. 

(He thinks it might be the second one.)

Martin has tried to understand why Jon has been acting like That since they left The Lonely. Like it actually Meant something. But all he can do is keep quiet and try to not be too greedy. He’s afraid that if he comments on it, whatever _it_ is, it’ll disappear. The warm closeness that’s formed between them inside the cold walls of the safehouse. 

“Well that’s just stupid,” Jon mutters to himself that afternoon, two soft blankets draped over him and an old book laying on his lap. He frowns down at it like it personally offended him. Like it shouldn’t have the audacity to even try and call itself a book.

“What’s wrong with this one? The author use too much random punctuation for your tastes?” Martin teases, having quickly caught up with how picky Jon can be with what he reads.

(And he still reads Martin’s poems with a fond smile)

Jon grimaces. “It’s too predictable. I’m only three chapters in and I can already tell the murderer is the boyfriend’s sister’s best friend.”

“Do you know that or do you _Know know_ that?”

“I don’t need the powers of an All-Knowing Eldritch Horror to tell me the ending, anyone with half a brain cell could have guessed,” Jon grumbles, and Martin chuckles at how indignant he sounds by the book's predictability. 

Jon continues reading begrudgingly. Meanwhile, Martin allows himself to indulge and _look_ . In the past year he’s only truly seen Jon no more than a handful of times, and for most of them his stare was faraway and fleeting. He missed having Jon on his direct line of sight and having him _stay_ there. Missed tracing the sharp slope of his nose and the increasingly graying stray hairs now tucked into a loose braid, tickling his forehead and cheeks. The sweet curve of his eyelashes as he reads with alive, half-lidded eyes. (Deep brown and expressive instead of glowing green so bright it hurts to look at.) Martin sits on the far end of the room and let’s himself look and knows that Jon Knows he’s _looking_. He doesn’t mind. 

He feels like he’s living someone else’s life.

(Martin doesn’t get Happily Ever After, he’s not even a main character to begin with. So how can he be Here with Jon? How can he be Allowed to enjoy this?)

Jon takes in a sharp breath from the other side of the room. He looks like he’s grappling with a way to Say Something, but he’s not finding it. Martin sees his mouth open and close three times, sees his fingers pale with how tightly he’s gripping the disgraced book. Martin feels his stomach drop. 

“Jon?”

“I— I don’t know if you, well. I don’t want to rush— I was just wondering,”

“ _Jon?_ ” 

“Would it be okay if I– can I kiss you?”

Uh.

Okay. Woah.

Out of the thousand possibilities Martin came up with in the past five seconds (Most of them bad. Jon leaving. Jon telling him to stop being a fucking creep. Jon leaving—) this was _not_ among the list.

Let’s recap.

(Jon wants to kiss him? Martin? Martin Blackwood?)

Jon wants to kiss Martin Blackwood. 

(He knows Jon knows and Knows about his feelings. Is this pity? Is this—?)

He’s Looking at him now, brown eyes boring into him in a way that most would possibly find unsettling. 

(Martin feels Seen. He feels a thousand different things at the moment. He’s Feeling _So Much_ )

“Um.” Martin says, intelligently. 

“I’m sorry, I— I don’t want to rush things? I was just wondering, it’s okay if—”

(Martin’s feeling a thousand different things at a million different intensities at the moment. But he does Know one thing. He Knows he wants to kiss Jon)

“Okay.”

“—I completely understand if– _Okay?_ ”

“Yeah, Okay.”

Jon’s eyes dance through his face in search of any trace of doubt. He finds none.

Martin blinks (he thinks he blinks. It was likely a bit more. He can feel his own face burning up, _oh god,_ is he really—) and Jon is sitting across from him, fingers fiddling nervously among each other, but his eyes never leave Martin. 

Martin closes his eyes again. 

He feels Jon’s hand against the side of his face, soft with scar tissue and warm against the cold of the air. He thinks of Jon Looking up at him, being much shorter than Martin is even sitting down, and huffs softly at the mental image, amused. A part of him wants to open his eyes to see it himself. He doesn’t. 

When Jon speaks Martin can feel his breath against his cheeks. “Is this still– okay?”

Martin nods. His mouth feels dry and heavy. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. 

Jon kisses very softly, almost hesitant. His lips taste vaguely like honey, and he pulls away after just a short moment.

Martin has wanted to kiss Jon for nearly five years, he’s not having any of this tentative bullshit. He might feel like he’s about to unknot and turn into a pile of loose strings but he can say with certainty he won’t. So before Jon can go too far he blindly puts his hand in the nape of his neck and _pulls._

Jon huffs against his cheek in surprise before melting against Martin and wrapping his arms around his shoulders like he’s a gift and behind his eyelids all Martin can see is yellowandorangeandpinkpurpleredblueorangeyellowyellowyellowyellow. Their glasses dig into each other’s faces and Martin can feel Jon’s soft beard tickling against his jaw (and he’s feeling so, _so much_ ).

When they pull away and Martin finally opens his eyes Jon is already Looking at him, and he feels multicolored.

Martin laughs a little, and then he can’t stop laughing. 

“I hope that means I’m an outstanding kisser and not an embarrassingly terrible one,” Jon jokes but still holds a nervous smile.

Martin, still shaking with laughter, leans his forehead against Jon’s. “It was great,” He whispers.

“Oh, good,” Jon says, like an idiot. A beautiful, _beautiful_ idiot. “I know we’ve been, y’know, together, but I didn’t want to—”

Wait. Hold on. 

“Jon?” 

“I know it can’t be easy after, well, _everything_ , so—” 

“Jon, what do you mean by _together_?” 

“Well, after The Lonely, I just thought—” Jon stops abruptly as if he just realized his mistake. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—” 

Martin starts laughing again because this man is ridiculous. He’s absolutely ridiculous and Martin loves him so, so much. 

“Just come here, you idiot,”

And he does. He always does. 


End file.
